


you are the most beautiful thing I keep inside my heart

by lavenderlotion



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, First Meetings, Flirting, Grief/Mourning, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Pre-X-Men: Days of Future Past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21654460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavenderlotion/pseuds/lavenderlotion
Summary: Darwin’s on Alex’s mind most of the time. Now that the man is gone, blown apart by the destructive force that sits inside Alex’s chest and keeps him too-warm no matter how cold he tries to get, an awful warmth, not the soft and sweet kinda warmth Darwin’d given him at all, he can’t be a pussy shit ‘bout how he feels.
Relationships: Armando Muñoz/Alex Summers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23
Collections: Secret Mutant Madness 2019





	you are the most beautiful thing I keep inside my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [IreneADonovan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IreneADonovan/pseuds/IreneADonovan) in the [secret_mutant_madness_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/secret_mutant_madness_2019) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Two months post-Cuba, Alex gets the best Christmas present he could ever have imagined -- Darwin alive and in his arms.

Alex doesn’t know what the hell he should expect when they roll up to the goddamn _CIA base._ His heart’s up in his throat; he doesn’t let it show. Weakness is something that doesn’t get you far in prison, in fact it gets you dead, and he knows how to make himself look tough when needed. Erik looks at Alex like he sees through his frontin’, but he doesn’t say nothing ’bout it, so Alex doesn’t really care. 

It’s pretty neat to be outside. Sure, he’s scared shitless even as he draws his lips down into a scowl, that usually makes sure he ain’t bothered, but the suns nice to feel on his face. Solitary was for the best, ‘specially since Alex’s mutation gets warmer and closer to the surface when he’s angry, and there’s lots to be angry about in prison. It was better than blowing someone up for being a dick, if nothing else, but it sure was dark. 

“Alex, this is our base of operations,” Xavier tells him out loud. Alex has no idea if he’s in his mind or not, but he ’ppreciates the man acting like he isn’t. 

“Pretty cool building,” he points out. He hadn’t said much during the drive, but Xavier and Erik had seemed to be having a conversation all on their own. Which, well, it was kinda rude to be talking in their minds with him in the back seat, but Alex hadn’t felt much up to talking anyway, so he didn’t say anything ’bout it. 

“It’s quite spacious inside,” Xavier—Alex guesses he should probably start calling him Charles, but the man’s mutation made him feel all types of creeped out—tells, gesturing grandly at the building. He kinda sounds like a salesman, though not a very good one in Alex’s opinion. Even his pitch back in his cell hadn’t been too good but...

If Alex can use his powers to do something that isn’t destroying or taking lives, well, he’s gotta take that chance. Xavier had said he wouldn’t have to live in fear, and sure, that may be some telepathic powered bullshit where he was just sprouting shit specifically to get Alex to join them, but. 

Well, here he is. If it was bullshit, it worked. 

He follows Xavier and Erik into the compound. It _is_ pretty big, he’ll give Xavier that, but the men they pass look after them with distrustful eyes. Alex is familiar with being feared. He knows what fear looks like in someone’s eyes and how to read it in their stances, and he sees it in each agent he passes. He knows what it’s like to be hated, and sees that too. 

Alex doesn’t pay attention to where they go. It’s not too likely he’ll be leaving his room much, so he doesn’t bother with remembering the route they take. Xavier tells him he’ll be meeting the other mutants, and then goes back to talking about what the CIA wants from them. Alex tunes him back out until they get to a bigger room. 

Alex lets the two of them walk through the door first. He doesn’t know these people, and as neat as it is that they’re all mutants, that doesn’t make Alex any less cautious. He’s met enough people that wanna hurt him over the years, and he’s still not really sure if this time is gonna be different from the others. 

Xavier is the one who does introductions. As aggressive as Erik is, Alex prefers him over Xavier. Erik looks honest, and Alex believes his rough words and clipped tone more than Xavier’s flowery promises. Alex mostly nods his head and ignores whatever the hell Xavier is going on about as he checks the others out sizing them up and wondering what the hell their mutations might be. 

Angel seems cool. She’s smokin’ hot, but she has eyes that have seen some shit. The black guy does too, but there’s more there, like he’s seen some shit but caused some too. Honestly, Alex likes the look of those two a hell of a lot more than the other two. The blonde girl’s pretty but she looks...perfect. She don’t have a single flaw that he can see, and it makes his skin itch. 

The other one just looks like a fucking tool. 

The black guy starts walking over to him once Xavier shuts up. He’s... _long._ Alex doesn’t know why the hell he notices it, but the man’s lanky even if he looks like he could hold his own in a fight. Alex respects that, seen it enough during his time inside, that by the time the other man approaches, Alex is standing straight and facing him. 

“Hello there,” the man smiles as he greets Alex. His teeth look like they’re shining, white next to his dark lips. The pull of his lips distracts Alex long enough that he doesn’t notice the man’s outstretched hand until it’s slowly lowered back to his side. “Name’s Armando, but my friends call me Darwin.”

Alex nods. He’s glad that he doesn’t blush too often, otherwise he cheeks would be red. He scowls as he tries to figure out what the hell he’s embarrassed about, and his voice is distracted when he says, “’m Alex.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Alex,” Armando tells him. Alex isn’t gonna call him Darwin, not when he said it was for friends. Alex can’t even remember the last time he had one of those. He doesn’t mean to flinch when Armando clasps his shoulder, but it’s been so long since someone else touched him. There sure as hell aren’t too many people to touch down in solitary. “Hey man, it’s okay.”

The darker man’s voice is soothing. Alex likes the way it shapes words, thinks he wouldn’t mind listening to it some more. It makes him defensive when he says, “Yeah.”

Armando's hand is still on his fucking shoulder. It’s so _warm,_ but different from how Alex is always warm. Gentler, maybe. It doesn’t feel like Armando’s warmth will lead to destruction like Alex’s always does, and that’s...it’s something.

“Alright everyone,” Xavier’s voice, much as it annoys him, is kinda welcome. He steps back, outta Armando’s reach, and turns to him. “Alex, would you like us to show you to your room?”

“Sure,” he says quickly. He doesn’t know what to do with how Armando is looking at him, or how Angel is watching them. The other two are off in their own world, but it feels like the entire room is watching him, and his chest feels too tight under their gazes. 

He follows Xavier out of the room, but as he leaves, he turns back to find Armando still watching him. 

* * *

It’s only been a few days since Alex showed up, but he doesn’t mind it too much. He has some a’ his own clothes, now, which is pretty neat. He hasn’t had a wardrobe in a few years, and he sure as hell wasn't gonna say no when Xavier offered to buy him a closet full of shit. He still doesn’t really like the man, no matter how much money he throws at Alex. Alex can’t ever seem to get a read on him, and it puts him on edge. 

Erik is better. Alex likes that he’s so honest. That he’s seen shit. He doesn’t trust someone who seems as soft as Xavier as does, ‘specially when they’re supposed to be saving the damn world from some crazy-ass dude. Outta all the others, he still doesn’t like Raven or Hank—he had to learn their names elsewhere seein’ as they only ever talk to each other. 

He ’specially doesn’t like Hank. The man’s just got some fucked up feet, but hides himself like he’s a fucking monster. It sets Alex’s teeth on edge. He went into solitary to keep others _safe_ from himself. His mutation doesn’t just _look_ ugly: it takes fucking lives. But _poor_ Hank, with his big fucking _feet,_ hides himself away in a lab because he’s insecure, even though he passes just fine. 

He likes Angel. He now knows for sure that she’s seen some shit; from some of the things she’s mentioned...well, she hasn’t had it easy. Alex respects that, and she _is_ hot, even if Alex finds that he doesn’t think about it all too much. 

His...well, his favourite person here, so far, is Armando. It still feels strange to call him Darwin, even if he keeps asking. Alex hasn’t been close enough with someone to call them by a nickname in...he’s not sure he ever has, if he’s being real honest, so he keeps calling him by his full name. He knows it makes him seem like a dick, but that’s always kept him safe in the past, and he’s sure it’ll be the same here. 

It’s pretty clear the CIA base is just a fancier prison. Alex doesn’t understand how the hell Xavier doesn’t understand that, if he can read people's minds. Erik does—Alex sees the same nervousness he feels walking along the normal folk reflected in Erik’s eyes. The government is just rounding them up, no matter what it might look like or what the hell it’s for. 

At least he’s not the only freak. When they were all showing off, Alex had wanted no part in it. His power was fucking dangerous, and Alex only had the bare scraps of control over it on the best of days. Showing off wasn’t something he ever thought he would’a done, but then Armando started chanting his name and Alex...

Well, he doesn’t _wanna_ think about why the hell he showed himself off like a show pony, but he _did._ The statue sure as hell wasn’t the first thing he’d destroyed, and if he was being real honest, it had felt kinda good to let off some steam. He always had to hold himself in, always focusing at least a _little_ on the warmth that sat in his chest and ran down his veins to ensure it didn’t blow anything up. 

Being able to let some of it out felt _good,_ it wasn’t just ’cause of how Armando smiled at him, straight white teeth bright against his face. It wasn’t that at all, ’cause Alex wasn’t no queer. He just likes Armando’s company, nothing wrong with that. Likes how warm his smile is when he looks at Alex, and how he never held himself back from touching him. 

Not weird touching, of course, ’cause Alex wouldn’t put up with that shit if the other man tried. But he kept clapping Alex on the shoulder and pounding his fist, and just _standin’_ closer than the others would after showing off his power. So Alex sticks by him, ’cause he knows the value of being loyal, and they tend to hang out without the others more than with them. Which is just fine for Alex, who doesn’t like a lotta people at once. 

It’s why they’re off playing pinball while the others are hanging out on the couches. 

“That all you got, hotshot?” Armando asks him with a grin. The nickname is the only thing Armando has called him since he showed off his powers. He doesn’t know why he keeps letting him get away with it—Sean tried calling him hotshot, and Alex had gotten mad enough that he’d been a little too warm and maybe sparked a little bit. He just. Well, he likes it. From Armando.

And it doesn’t mean _anything._

“C’mon, you _wish_ you could hit this score,” Alex shoots right back, not taking his eyes off the machine. His eyes flicker over to where Armando’s hand is on the game, right in front of Alex’s.

Armando is always _so close_ that it doesn’t even feel weird for their hands to be right next to each other but...

With a racing heart, Alex keeps his eyes on the ball as he hits it back up, and then very, very carefully, he strokes his thumb over Armando’s ring finger. As soon as the pad of his thumb brushes past Armando’s nail, he’s putting his hand back on the control and focusing straight on the game, telling himself that it doesn’t mean anything at all, even if it maybe does, just a bit.

Armando seems to think it means something, since his head whips up from he’d been watching the ball ping around. Alex ignores his gaze and doesn’t look away, his heart still racing. He doesn’t know why the hell he just did that. Doesn’t know if it means something, or if he even wants it to. Hell, it feels like he don’t know _nothin’,_ and it sets his teeth on edge, makes him feel too-warm.

But there isn’t anything in Armando’s gaze that looks like a threat. He knows what happens to queers, ’specially ones in prison, and he knows he ain’t one. He can’t be, not when he’s already such a fucked up freak. But...well fuck, there’s something about Armando, something he can’t just ignore, and it’s been there, ever since they first met eyes, and he thinks, maybe, the other man feels it too. 

Armando goes to say something, and Alex tenses up. It ain’t gonna be good, no matter what it is. Either he’s gonna tell Alex to fuck the right Hell off, or he’s gonna say something that Alex knows he ain’t ready for. But instead of _either_ of that happening, Armando turns towards the rest of the room with a look of focus, tilting his head the smallest bit to the side. 

Alex only notices because he’s watching him so closely, even if it’s out of the corner of his eye. So he sees when Armando’s face darkens and something Alex don’t like enters his eyes. A second later, and Armando is stepping away and laying his hand flat on Alex’s abdomen, pressing against his skin and lighting him up with sensation. 

“Hold on, somethin’ doesn’t feel right,” Armando mutters, but Alex is so caught up in the feel of his wide palm and long fingers and how warm they are against his stomach that he doesn't even register his words at first. It’s so much more than just their fingers pressing together that it makes him feel like can’t even breathe. As Armando moves, he presses against Alex’s chest in a way that makes his breath feel like it’s too big for his lungs. 

But then it’s all over, and Armando’s walking away. Half a second later Alex finds that can’t keep his eyes on the game, drawn in by something he can’t, _won’t_ name. He goes over, sticking to the back of the crowd and trying to meet Armando’s eyes over the others, and that’s when the bodies start fallin’. Good fucking God, Alex cusses to himself, wincing as Raven screeches. 

He can’t even be mad, not when another body falls right in front of them and Alex can hear their bones break as they hit the ground. Good fucking God is right. Alex stays close to Armando, not sure what the hell is going on or what they were supposed to do but knowing that Armando’s side felt right in a way nothing else ever has. When the agent yells at them to stay put, he only has to look at Armando to know what the dark skinned man is thinking. 

“Stay here my _ass,_ lets go!” Alex is right behind him, running through the room and doing his goddamn best to keep the warmth in his chest from exploding outta him and killing them all before whoever is attacking them can even take a shot at it. 

He can feel his mutation warming his chest and working its way into his bones, charging him with energy he _never_ wanted but has either way. The only thing keeping him from blowing his lid is Armando, standing tall and looking stronger than any 'a them as he directs them back to the room they’d been in. 

It grates on Alex to know they are nothing but sitting ducks, but there isn’t anything any of them can fucking do. They’re being attacked and the CIA has rounded them up in cells that look like bedrooms and feel like comfort. When they hear an agent yell that they’re behind that door, he isn’t even fucking surprised. 

He _is_ surprised by the man who walks through. Shaw don’t look like too much, not at first, but he holds himself like he owns the space he’s in. it doesn’t seem to matter to him that he’s breaking into a government facility, just waltzes into the fucking room like it’s _his_ and he looks at them like they’re bound to be, too. 

“Good evening, my name’s Sebastian Shaw,” the man begins. Alex doesn’t bother listening to him: he knows why he’s here and he knows that going with Shaw won’t do him a lick 'a good. The man looks slimy. Alex wouldn’t 'a listened to him anyway, not with the way his hair is slicked back and the way he looks at them like he’s seeing what they can do for him instead ‘a like they’re people. 

Alex has seen that look enough in his life. The man says some bullshit about being slaves while looking at Armando, and his power almost spikes in anger. Luckily, Alex manages to keep himself calm, since there is _definitely_ not enough room for him to go supernova. Shaw says something ridiculous about kings and queens, but then Angel steps forward and takes his hand.

“C’mon, we don’t belong here,” she says, turning away from them in the next second, “and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

And she’s right, of course. But one look at Armando and he’s staying still, not even bothering to consider leaving. Angel is right, ‘cause these humans had feared ‘em and hated ‘em, but they don’t belong with Shaw either. Alex knows that Shaw only means more death, and Alex...he wants to cause as little ‘a that as possible. 

“We have to do something,” Raven mutters tearfully, and Alex tries not to snort. 

Because there’s nothing for them to do. Alex locks his jaw and grinds his teeth together, his eyes widening as Armando turns to him with a look in his eyes that has fear clawing up his belly. He grabs Armando’s arm, only the second time he’s ever reached out to touch someone in _years,_ and he wraps his fingers around the man’s forearm, ignoring the way it feels to touch someone after _so_ long of being terrified it would kill them. 

But Armando jerks out of his touch. The way his lips twitch could only be described as soft, but Alex hates him for it. Hates him for making him _feel_ something that Alex can’t feel. And _fuck,_ but Armando’s eyes do something real sweet, and Alex knows everything is about to go to shit. 

“Stop, I’m coming with you,” Armando’s calls, and Alex’s heart kicks up, presses against his ribs, beats so fast he feels breathless. 

He doesn’t listen to their exchange, not when he can feel his body warming with his mutation. It’s always so close, always sitting right there in his chest even if he never wants it to be, but now he calls on it as he watches Armando walk away, warmed further by his anger and the fucking _desperation_ knowing that Armando is walking right into danger and there ain’t a damn thing Alex can do ‘bout it. 

“Alex, now—” Armando calls. Alex swings his hips, letting go of the careful hold he has on his mutation and swinging it about his body. Rings of plasma form, and he does his best to aim them straight at Shaw, giving everything he’s got because it’s _Armando_ riskin’ himself. He can see the path one is gonna take as soon as it leaves his body, and a grin starts to tug at his lips. 

And then, his whole world falls apart. 

* * *

The mansion is huge. Alex has _never_ been in a place so big, not even when he was in prison. There are so many rooms and so many hallways that he gets lost at least once a day, but it’s out of the way, and it’s private, and it’s theirs, at least. There are no non-mutants watching them through glass walls and taunting them when they can do nothing about it, which Alex likes. 

He also likes the bunker, which is where he spends most of his time these days. He’s made himself a home down there, filled it with his shit. It doesn’t bother him that it’s cold down there, not when he’s always so hot anyway. ‘Sides, it’s away from the others and that sure as hell doesn’t hurt. 

Alex knows he ain’t holding it together well and if he’s bein’ honest about it, he isn’t trying. None of them are—not Xavier with his drinking, or Hank spending all his time alone in the workshop, and not Sean, who does nothing but sleep. Hell, Alex hasn’t even heard his voice since they all got back from Cuba. So they’re all struggling, and not a single one of them are doing a good job of adapting...not like Darwin would’a. 

Darwin’s on Alex’s mind most of the time. Now that the man is _gone,_ blown apart by the destructive force that sits inside Alex’s chest and keeps him too-warm no matter how cold he tries to get, an awful warmth, not the soft and sweet kinda warmth Darwin’d given him at all, he can’t be a pussy shit ‘bout how he feels. And he feels...damn, he feels a lot. More than he knows what to do with, but there're some things he can sort through when he needs to. 

Alex has worked his—his _feelings_ , to the point where he can call the man by his preferred name, if nothing else. Sure, they didn’t know each other for all that long, but Alex knew him long enough to know that he’d never know anyone like him again. Hell, he’d never _want_ to know anyone like him again, not if that meant he’d feel the same way for them. 

’Cause there’s a place in Alex’s chest, beside the warmth of his mutation and the beating of his heart, that sits empty now that Darwin is gone. A place that Darwin would’a lived, if Alex hadn’t‘a killed him. And maybe that makes him a queer, but he’s already a fucking murderer, so how much worse can he get? 

It’s another night that he can’t sleep, like all the others. He feels hollow in a way that he doesn’t know how to put into words. Sometimes, he thinks someone carved him out till there was nothin’ left of him and just decided to leave him to go on like that. He feels like half a’ man, which makes sense when he thinks that half a’ him was Darwin.

Alex spends a lot of time outside. All the time he ain’t in the bunker, actually. He’s not a total dumb ass, so he knows it’s because he spent so long in jail. Most a’ the time, the mansion feels like a whole new life for him. At least it had, before everything went to shit in Cuba. God, with the state of things bein’ what they are, he can’t help but feel sorry for himself as he settles onto a nice spot a’ grass far enough out that he can’t see the tips of the mansion’s roof behind him.

This feels good. Out here, there’s no one Alex can hurt. He can’t fuck up again and kill someone he...well, someone he cares for, at the very least. And that’s good. He’s not cold, not with his mutation always so close to the surface despite it bein’ December. Sometimes, Alex comes all the way out here and just lets it out. The circle ‘a grass he’s sitting in is nothing but black char and dirt cause a’ that. 

It just gets to be too much, and no one in the mansion is much help, since they’re all strugglin’ themselves. Sometimes Alex has gotta let out some steam, or something bad is bound to happen. Hell, the last time he used his power without the tuner Hank made ended in the death of Darwin.

Alex wonders if his thoughts will ever stop leading him back to Darwin, or if they’re bound together by his death in some fucked up twist of fate. It kinda feels like they’d been bound together before that, seein’ as they got so damn close so quick—at least for Alex’s standards. Sure, Alex knows what it was on his end, why he can’t stop thinking ‘bout him, but it’s easier, believing it’s something he can’t control. 

Which is why he’s sitting out on some grass, all alone. He’s already alone in all the ways that matter, least out here he can’t hurt no one. Alex perks up the second he sees something. No one comes all the way out here, mostly ’cause no one knows about them. He can’t really see whoever it is in the dark, not until they get closer. By the time Alex is scrambling to his feet, his heart is already beating against his ribs fast enough to worry him. 

“D-Darwin?” Alex’s voice breaks. He can barely see, if only ‘cause his eyes are filling with the tears he hasn’t let himself spill, since the sorrow he feels was caused by his own hands. He watches the man approach, all but blending into the night around him. Maybe he’s darker, maybe his body is adapting again.

Fuck. _Fuck,_ but he must be tripping on something strong. Alex wonders when the hell he fell asleep. He’s pretty fucking sure he’s not dreaming, but he’s had this exact dream enough times that he knows how it goes. 

He’s gonna reach out, which he does right then, his fingers hanging in the air as neither of them move forward. Alex doesn’t wanna move anymore ’cause he knows how this is gonna end, and he’d rather break down with distance between them, wants to drag it out as long as can even if it’ll hurt more later on. Usually, Darwin moves towards him. This time, the other man stays still. 

The other man who...doesn’t have any hair. Now that Alex isn’t actively freaking the fuck out quite as much, he notices the lack of hair, something he’s _never_ dreamt up before. It's not enough to have him believing that it is anything short of a dream but...

Alex drags his eyes over Darwin’s form. His shirt is stretching tightly against his chest, which isn’t too surprising. Even if he can’t be a queer in real life, he sure as hell is one in his dreams. Darwin’s smile, when Alex gets to it, is just as happy as it always used to be. But...when Alex gets to Darwin’s eyes—they’re all white. There’s no pupil. And there’s no way in _hell_ Alex would a’ made that up.

“Heya’ hotshot,” Darwin says. His voice is a deep, pleasing, rumble, same as it’s always been. In the last few months, Alex had forgotten exactly what it sounded like. His dreams never got the inflection right, never shaped the words quite the same way as Alex had remembered him doin’. “I see you’re finally callin’ me by my name. That means you like me now, yeah?”

But this dream-Darwin _does_ sound right _._ He calls Alex hotshot just like he did all that time ago in the arcade, and that, coupled with his crazy- _hot_ new look has Alex thinking...well, maybe this is real. His hand is shaking badly as he steps closer, and he has to clench his hand into a fist just to get it against Drawin’s chest.

When he finally _does_ get his knuckles pressed against Darwin’s chest, he bursts into fucking tears. 

The taller man doesn’t waste any time before he’s moving forward. Alex doesn’t take a single second to think about maybe hurting him, not when Darwin is _here_ and _alive,_ and his skin so cool against Alex’s burning flesh. God, it feels so good to press close, closer, and closer still until their feet are pressed up together and Alex’s arms are so tight around Darwin’s waist he feels the skin toughen up so he can hug him even tighter. 

Darwin seems even taller, or maybe they’d just never been this _close._ Hell, Alex is fucking _sure_ they’ve never been this close. He knows he would have remembered it. Closing his eyes, even as he keeps crying, he presses his face into the cool skin a’ Darwin’s neck and lets himself breathe in. He never thought he’d enjoy the smell of another man’s skin, but as he sucks in large lungfuls of air, Alex doesn’t think he’s ever smelled anything so good. 

There’s been a hole in his chest that Alex always felt but never understand quite how big it was ’till this very moment, now that the pit is being filled up by Darwin’s presence, Alex breaking down in his strong arms. Slowly, the pressure that has been sitting in his chest for months lessens, and his lungs stop burning. 

When he pulls back, he can’t help but trace Darwin’s jaw with a shaking finger. It’s so _smooth,_ not even a hint a’ the stubble Darwin liked to sport. There’s no eyebrows either, and it just makes his eyes look more piercing. There’s no irises, but Alex finds he doesn't need them to read the relief on Darwin’s face, or the heat when he rubs the pad of his thumb over Darwin’s full bottom lip. 

“You’re alive,” Alex breathes. He doesn’t dare phrase it as a question. Fate has already taken Darwin from him once, he doesn’t wanna give her any damn ideas about doing it again. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers. His voice barely comes out, and he realizes it’s been a few days since he’s said anything to anyone. Darwin’s wearing a shirt that’s a bit too small on him, but it’s _just_ tucked into his pants like always and he looks just as long as he always has. Alex can’t stop staring at him, can’t stop _touching him,_ not when he’s finally back. 

God, it doesn’t feel real. 

“Baby,” Darwin says softly, a whisper in the night. “‘Course I came back for you.” Alex knows this isn’t a good idea. Knows what people would say, how they would react. But _loving_ Darwin already got Darwin killed once, and he came back. 

_He came back._

So Alex doesn’t utter a damn word of protest at being called something so queer, and instead, kisses him full on the lips. 

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this whole thing and then reread the prompt and realized i didn't even mention christmas in this thing...i'm very sorry i hope you still like this!


End file.
